


Meet Ugly

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fic will update according to reader's interest levels, First Meetings, Headcanons that will totally be debunked in like a month, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, team antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Overwatch recall is pretty much shaping up to be exactly what McCree expected it to be. That is to say, it's cold, wet, and strangely lonely, at least until a newcomer arrives. McCree might have never seen Hanzo before, but he knows enough to be wary, <i>especially</i> because the man is gorgeous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interesting

It wasn’t coincidence that caused McCree and the stranger to run headlong into each other at the side entrance of the Gibraltar watchpoint. It was, McCree reflected, at least fifty percent the fault of the stupidly high stack of medical supplies Angela had piled into his arms and ordered him to carry off. The other fifty percent, though, he wasn’t sure of. After all, it didn’t seem like the stranger had been carrying anything, judging from the mess that now surrounded them.

“My apologies,” the man said gruffly, a Japanese accent heavy on his tongue and making McCree’s eyebrows raise.

“No problem,” he said, standing and brushing himself off. He held his hand out to help the man up, his grin lopsided and slightly tense. He had a hunch who the stranger might be, considering the rarity of new faces around the base these days. “I take it you’re the reason Genji’s been gone then?”

The stranger’s shoulders went tense, musculature standing out in stark relief. _Bullseye._ “My name is Hanzo Shimada,” the man-- Hanzo-- replied stiffly, standing without taking McCree’s offered help.

Letting his hand drop, McCree carefully kept the grin on his lips. “Jesse,” he said, “Jesse McCree. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And then, because he didn’t really know what to do with the knowledge that he was looking right at Genji’s brother, he winked.

Hanzo’s unimpressed scowl was draining McCree’s remaining good mood fast. He bent to start picking up the white boxes, grimacing when he noticed that a couple had popped open. Beside him, Hanzo followed suit, his cybernetic legs whirring quietly as he did so. “Mighty kind a’ ya,” McCree said, hoping to cut some of the awkwardness that hung thick between them.

A beat of silence followed, and then Hanzo replied with a grumbled, “It was my fault, I was not paying attention. Of course I will help.” The supplies quickly seemed to find their way back to McCree’s arms, and then he was nodding at Hanzo, trying to leave as gracefully as he could given that he really did have to get going. Zenyatta and Mercy might both kill him if he was any later. Well, Mercy would, anyway.

“Ah,” Hanzo reached out to catch McCree’s shoulder, then hesitated. He seemed to search for the words he needed for a moment, but it was only a second before he was saying, “Could you tell me where I might find Winston?”

Boxes wobbling, McCree’s mouth pinched at the corners as he tried to remember. It wasn’t exactly his job to keep an eye on the big guy, so sometimes he simply didn’t know. “I think he’s out on a mission with Tracer,” McCree said, all slow drawl as he tried to recall exactly what Winston had said this morning around a mouthful of peanut butter.

McCree was surprised when Hanzo’s face, which he was beginning to suspect was permanently set in a stern frown, melted into something else, something more vulnerable. It only lasted a second, but he looked so damn _lost,_ it felt like McCree had been punched in the gut. He turned as if he was going to continue on his way, but knew before he took a step what he’d say.

“If you’re free, would ya’ wanna come with me?” He shrugged, despite how difficult it was to balance the boxes when he moved his shoulders. “Get the feelin’ you don’t know the lay of the land yet, and you might wanna know where sickbay is.”

Behind him, McCree could practically _feel_ Hanzo bristling. For such a large, mature-looking man, he had remarkably cute reactions. Before McCree could choke on the thought, Hanzo replied with a sniff, “Yes, that does sound reasonable.”

Despite any wounded pride Hanzo might have been nursing (and damn was he prideful; McCree had never seen Genji as a rich crime lord’s son, but Hanzo practically oozed it) he had the decency to take a few boxes from the top of McCree’s stack, allowing him to more easily lead the way around the uneven ground to the sick bay’s entrance. He chatted inanely as he went, but it was hard to keep up a conversation when Hanzo seemed reluctant to respond.

As they neared the entrance of the building, the door slid open to reveal Mei, a smile on her lips as she walked backwards out of the building. McCree’s lips split in a wide smile, genuine and not awkward at all. “Mei, darlin’” He called, speeding up slightly. “Didn’t realize you were back!”

Hanzo had sped up to match McCree’s speed, though he looked between the two of them suspiciously. “Jesse,” Mei said warmly, her hands catching McCree’s shoulders. “I just got back, actually! It’s so good to see you again.”

McCree was about to respond in kind when Zenyatta floated his way out of the small building, his monotone omnic voice somehow seeming stern when he said, “McCree, what kept you?” McCree grimaced as Mei released him and stepped aside, but he was spared from having to respond when Zenyatta’s head tilted, catching sight of Hanzo behind him.

“Oh, Hanzo,” Zenyatta said, his legs unfolding from their lotus so that he could walk along the ground like a normal person. “Welcome to Gibraltar. So glad you could join us.”

Confusion clouded Hanzo’s dark eyes, but he said no more than a cut off “What-” before Mei got ahold of him.

“Nice to meet you!” She said brightly, her hold on his arms obviously making him beyond uncomfortable. Honestly, McCree couldn’t understand it; Mei was _adorable_ , surely the handsiness could be forgiven?

Swallowing visibly, Hanzo took a half step back, extricating himself from her grip. “You as well,” he said, formal down to his toes. McCree stifled a snicker, though not very effectively, judging by the look Hanzo shot him.

“I, ah, am here to deliver these?” Hanzo quickly, and transparently, redirected the conversation.

“Of course, come in,” said Zenyatta, waving McCree and Hanzo into the sickbay. Hanzo followed, trepidation clear in his hesitant steps. He and Genji really seemed like such opposites to McCree, it was a wonder they were related at all.

Mei said her goodbye quickly, scurrying off with that deceptive grace of hers. She seemed to be in a good mood, and McCree hoped it meant that her trip to Asia had turned up something they could use. Because, well, with how things were going on base, they needed good news. Then again, with the new guy here, things might get interesting.

Things certainly _seemed_ interesting when he walked in to find Zenyatta telling Hanzo about his time with Genji, though McCree only caught the end of it. “--you know. Not that he said as much, of course, but Genji has only recently opened himself to such spiritual matters. McCree, please, do not even try to filch that.”

Wincing, McCree set down his boxes on the few inches of table space that were available, pretending like he hadn’t been eyeing a certain box of cigars in the nearby drawer. Zenyatta continued talking as if he’d never interrupted himself, making Hanzo’s face twist in confusion. “Where are you staying, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m afraid we mightn’t have many free rooms, given the state the watchpoint was in when the recall was initiated.”

“I am… not sure,” Hanzo said, and there it was again; the lost child look, like he wasn’t muscular enough to bench press McCree. “Genji told me that there was a place for me here, if I wanted it. I had not realized that such planning would be expected.”

“Don’t ya’ll worry,” McCree said from his corner, making them both turn to face him. “I can give you a tour ‘round, help you pick.” He offered it with a smile, a twinkle in his eyes.

A frown was pinching Hanzo’s mouth, more pronounced for the way his trimmed beard threw shadows across his face, but Zenyatta clapped him on the back amicably. “That does sound splendid. Now, if you would be so kind as to go along, I do have work to do.”

The run in with the omnic seemed to have left Hanzo somewhat off-balance. Retracing their steps, they neared the side entrance again. McCree just wasn’t sure what to talk about; he’d never known Genji particularly well, aside from his fighting prowess. That, and… well, McCree wouldn’t want to spill to Hanzo exactly what he and Genji had gotten up to, on occasion. It wasn’t so rare for Blackwatch members, isolated as they were, but it also was far from common knowledge.

“So,” McCree said as they entered the main building, walking through a hallway that was just shy of being too cramped. “Genji talked you into coming, eh? I’m glad he did, we’re in sore need of agents these days.”

Shoulders tensing once again, Hanzo shot McCree a sidelong glance. McCree tried his best not to be distracted by the way Hanzo seemed to have seen fit to show up to Overwatch’s doorstep half dressed; it had been easier to ignore with boxes in the way, but his pecs looked _sinful_ in the dim, narrow hallway. “Are you, now?” Hanzo asked, voice soft and unreadable.

“Yup,” McCree kept his tone light and casual, easy with years of practice. “Damn near no one answered the recall. Bit of a pain havin’ to go out and recruit, if’m honest.”

Though Hanzo’s eyes seemed shuttered, McCree could tell he hadn’t expected to hear that. “In that case, I am even more glad I came,” he said, sounding about as insincere as anyone McCree had heard in a while.

Their stroll had taken them out of the maintenance hallway, so that they were now in a much more brightly lit area. A small wash of relief flooded McCree’s lungs as he finally had space to spread out; he even stretched his arms over his head, unnecessary as it was for the cybernetic one. “Well, welcome to Overwatch partner,” he said. “Mess hall’s this way.”

It didn’t take long, as tours went. Half the building was still abandoned, and of that most of it was in such disrepair that it was unusable anyway. Left them open as hell to attacks, and McCree could tell Hanzo knew it, too. He hoped to fuck that Genji knew what he was doing, asking his ex-criminal brother to join.

By the time they made it to the room that would be Hanzo’s by process of elimination (they only kept one spare bed made and ready; if Hanzo wanted to move, he could do the work himself), Hanzo seemed like he’d swallowed a stormcloud. McCree wondered if he was regretting coming here, really, or if he was just experiencing the same thing McCree had when he’d first joined Overwatch. That sense of being unmoored hadn't been pleasant, though, so McCree tried not to dwell on it.

On the other hand, Hanzo looked like a professional brooder. McCree hovered in his doorway for a few moments after Hanzo entered the room, the tattoo on his right arm bruise dark as he wrapped it around his torso and grabbed his left, just above the elbow. McCree averted his eyes, not wanting to admit to himself that it looked like Hanzo was hugging himself. Shit.

“Dinner’s at 6:00,” he said roughly. Hanzo nodded, sat at the edge of his bed heavily. “Er, my room’s second on the left, if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo said, curt and, as far as McCree could tell, actually sincere this time.

It wasn’t until the door slid closed behind him that it occurred to McCree that Hanzo hadn’t brought any bags. Damn, there was such a thing as not knowing what to expect, but the man only had two tiny satchels around his waist. What was he doing, joining up with the (illegal, now) organization his brother had once worked for? McCree shook his head, brow furrowing as he walked to his room.

There was also the fact that Hanzo was smoking hot, of course. Damn, but if Genji had looked half that good human then he really _did_ lose out when he upgraded. Hanzo was shaping up to be real interesting, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm considering making this multi-chapter, but I'm not sure how much interest there is for that kind of thing. The idea of exploring how Overwatch might be rebuilt is absolutely fascinating to me, but we're likely to get a comic or short about it eventually, so I totally get if others aren't interested in seeing the clusterfuck of semi-superhumans (and gorilla) immersed in my headcanons.
> 
> On the other hand, if anyone _does_ want to see all the goofy friendships and a slow-burn, adorable love between two huge dorks (because really, who's more dorky than McCree and Hanzo? No one) then I am totally into writing it!! Just, gotta know what the fans want to see I guess :"")


	2. Stumble

At 5:50 McCree made his way to the kitchen, boredom itching under his skin and making him too restless to wait the extra ten minutes. That was the worst part of the Overwatch base, these days; so much was going wrong, but not in the easy to fix way McCree preferred. He couldn’t point a gun at the bad guys and have that fix their lack of technology, or personnel, or the fact that they were criminals.

So, in an attempt to keep himself distracted, McCree strolled into the large space. While there had been a lot of turnover in the good days as agents moved from watchpoint to watchpoint, there had pretty much always been a few people in Gibraltar, so the kitchen was designed to allow for full-time use. Which was good, because Reinhardt needed every inch of space he could get.

The smell of currywurst was thick in the air, and the oil popped loudly as Reinhardt dropped french fries into it. McCree walked up behind him, the unfamiliar feeling of being dwarfed washing over him. He never got used to the simple _size_ of the veteran. “Again?” Said McCree, wrinkling his nose at the veritable mountain of fried pork.

Reinhardt turned to look at him, a smile breaking over his face. “But of course!” His voice was loud, but it was familiar and welcome. “It’s delicious. What’s not to love about currywurst?”

“Yeah,” said a high voice from the mess hall, connected to the kitchen via a counter on which finished food could be served. “And the fact that it’s the only food you know how to make has nothing to do with why we’re eating it three dinners in a row.”

“Brigitte,” Reinhard admonished, not looking her way as he continued to work. “I assure you, I know how to make more than currywurst.”

McCree shook his head, patting his friend on his broad shoulder. “Sorry partner, gonna have to agree with the lady on this one.” He’d been apprehensive about Brigitte at first, but she’d ended up invaluable in repairing their old watchpoint and weapons. It helped that she had a helluva sense of humor, too.

Huffing indignantly, Reinhardt turned to grab some more spices. He inadvertently crowded McCree into the corner as he moved, and even though it was stupid-- even though McCree _knew_ it was stupid-- it set his nerves jangling. As soon as Reinhardt moved back out of the way, he slipped from the kitchen, opting instead to sit beside Brigitte at one of their tables.

“Did you two meet the new guy yet?” McCree asked, lounging in the cheap, plastic chair as best he could. “He seems interesting.”

“Genji’s brother? Ne, but Mei told us he was here,” said Reinhardt, sprinkling a generous portion of curry powder on the cooked wurst.

“Seems like he’ll be a handful, if he’s anything like his family.” Brigitte fiddled with the basket of napkins, pushing it left and right restlessly. “Where is Genji, anyway? He finished the recruiting mission, right?”

“Dunno.” McCree shrugged, scratched at his beard. “Might be lookin’ for someone else now, might just be takin’ a breather. Can’t say I blame him.”

Pushing two large trays laden with food onto the counter, Reinhardt said, “Genji does not ‘take a breather,’ McCree. That’s you.”

“Hey,” said McCree, “That’s a low blow, pal. It ain’t like I haven’t been wantin’ something to do around here.”

“You might get your wish soon!” Mei, nearly bouncing through the door, sounded about as brightly positive as ever. “I got us a job, and a new member.”

The whole room went silent. Reinhardt looked to nearly be trembling in excitement, and he had to move slowly as he walked into the mess hall proper, his good eye shining with interest. “A… job?” McCree said, hesitant despite himself.

Casual as could be, Mei walked up to the counter and grabbed a plate for herself, piling food onto it. “You bet,” she said, “Lucheng Interstellar. Turns out they’ve got some darn good intelligence working for them, because they’ve caught wind of a Talon plot to steal some of their tech.”

Another beat of silence, and then Brigitte burst out, unable to contain herself, “Okay, spill. Who’d you recruit?”

“Hana Song,” Mei said, turning back to them with a mischievous grin. “The one and only.” She placed her food down beside McCree, and he was left looking between her and Brigitte helplessly, unsure why they both looked so excited. He exchanged looks with Reinhardt; they shrugged in near unison.

“She’s a gamer,” Brigitte explained, punching McCree in the shoulder not-so-lightly. “One of the best. She’s been working for MEKA, and she’s got a state-of-the-art mech. Nothing like his old bucket of bolts.” At that she jerked her head towards Reinhardt, rolling her eyes melodramatically.

Stiffening, Reinhardt said, “The Crusader armor is noble and traditional, not a bucket of bolts.” He gingerly lowered himself into a chair between Brigitte and McCree, the plastic almost dainty beneath his weight.

“When’s she coming?” Brigitte asked, ignoring Reinhardt entirely. McCree was surprised to see her so excited; he’d thought the only thing that got her going was machines.

Mei’s soft cheeks weren’t suited to proper frowns, but her smile wilted a bit at the question. “Another couple of months,” she admitted. “And she won’t be able to help with the mission, either. She’s in the middle of filming right now, and she doesn’t want to leave them hanging without warning.”

Thankfully, the rest of the party was prevented from letting the news get to them too much by the arrival of the other newest member of their team. Hanzo hesitated in the doorway, eyeing the greasy food with distaste. Suddenly, McCree felt the need to break up the silence as fast as possible. “Who needs some washed up gamer when we’ve got Hanzo?” He said, winking at Hanzo again.

Confusion broke through Hanzo’s scowl, and then Reinhardt was lifting himself from the table and striding towards him. It only took him three steps, and suddenly Hanzo’s eyes were comically large. It was always a treat, watching Reinhardt meet people for the first time.

“So this is the famous Hanzo?” Reinhardt thundered, playing up his already commanding voice. Out of the corner of his eye, McCree caught Brigitte rolling hers. “Well met, my friend!”

With his hand clasped in Reinhardt’s strong grasp, Hanzo didn’t seem to know where to look. It made McCree snicker, to know that the more friendly members of Overwatch were already overwhelming him. And then it was _his_ turn to be confused, when Hanzo leant around Reinhardt’s side to look at him with something vaguely pleading in his dark gaze.

“Can I get you a drink?” He said, standing and walking to the odd pair as Reinhardt stepped back. Something told him the German would be getting a lecture from Brigitte about etiquette later.

“Please,” Hanzo said, “do you have any beer?” He followed McCree to the counter, following suit when McCree began to stack food onto his plate. True to his prissy appearance, he put very little food on it; it made McCree want to laugh again.

Darting into the kitchen, McCree opened the fridge. “Sure thing, partner, if’n you don’t mind the cheap stuff.” Hanzo simply nodded, so McCree passed him a can. While he was over there, the others called out their requests, so that when he returned to the table he and Hanzo were once again carrying precariously balanced loads. Luckily, this time they managed not to spill it everywhere.

Hanzo ended up in the only free seat, sandwiched between McCree and Reinhardt. As funny as it was to watch him struggle to hold up conversation, McCree found himself throwing the poor guy a bone and distracting Reinhardt with questions about long-retired Overwatch members, finding himself pleasantly surprised by how well the old tactic still worked. Mei’s eyes shone at that, but she didn’t comment; McCree found himself on edge about what she might say.

Mercy and Zenyatta didn’t show up, and Winston and Tracer still hadn’t contacted them. No one commented, but McCree could see it in Mei’s quiet lapses in conversation, in Brigitte and Reinhardt’s exchanged glances; Overwatch was still far too broken. McCree wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d gotten the recall message, but he was sure it hadn’t been _this._ Five people sitting around a table, just talking.

If Hanzo’s growing tension was anything to go by, the poor guy hadn’t expected it either. He fidgeted, rotating his beer can left and right, shifting his weight in his chair. It wasn’t a surprise when, when McCree got up to take his dirty plate to the sink and toss his own can, Hanzo followed him. What _was_ surprising was the fact that, instead of darting back to his room immediately, Hanzo followed McCree.

“Got somethin’ you need to tell me?” McCree said on his way back to his room, watching Hanzo’s scowl deepen.

“I was wondering,” Hanzo started, then took a deep breath. McCree tried very hard not to notice how his chest looked when it heaved like that. “You, er, earlier it sounded as though you might know my brother?”

Pain was plain in Hanzo’s face, and McCree was struck by just how expressive he was. Regal bearing usually came with a certain level of unreadability, but Hanzo was an open book. “Yessir, I did,” McCree said, “Though it’s been a few years since we’ve had a drink together, what with the Petras Act ‘n all.”

“You… drank, together.” It could have been a question, but Hanzo’s tone was so flat, and his face was doing something complicated. They stopped outside of Hanzo’s door, McCree scratching his beard with one hand and wishing for a cigar.

“Yup. Damn near everyone in Blackwatch drank together.” McCree watched absently as Hanzo pressed the button to open his door, then stepped inside. He didn’t walk further into the room, though McCree wasn’t certain why; it was clear he wasn’t enjoying the conversation.

Then again, neither would McCree, in his position. Dead brother, back from the grave, and it all Hanzo’s fault? McCree could feel the stress of it eating away at his own stomach already. “If you want, I could tell you about it some time,” he offered, overly casual to hide the knot in his chest.

“Another time, perhaps,” said Hanzo, seeming to look straight through McCree. “I have, ah, things to do. If you’ll excuse me.” Nodding politely, yet curtly, Hanzo closed the door in McCree’s face.

**\-----**

A few hours later McCree found himself waking in a cold sweat, his bedsheets sticking to damp skin. Damn nightmares. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling it stick up in odd directions, sighed heavily. There was no rolling over and falling back asleep, after memories like that.

The chilly air of the room made goosebumps rise along his arms as he stood, stretching his arms above his head. It was too early to start the day proper, but a midnight snack might help him on the way to feeling halfway normal again. Hanzo’s arrival may have shaken loose some bad shit in his head, but he wasn’t going to allow it to keep him down for long.

Padding to the kitchen with bare feet, McCree tried his hardest to keep quiet. The walls here weren’t as thin as the shitty motels he was used to staying in, but the habit stuck, and a base full of ex-agents had its fair share of itchy trigger fingers anyway. To his surprise, when he neared the room he saw light leaking from under the door.

It _whooshed_ open to reveal Hanzo, a spoonful of tomato soup halfway to his mouth. He froze, staring at McCree with the same surprise McCree was levelling at him. And then Hanzo’s eyes slid lower, and while McCree was still remembering, _oh, he didn’t eat much at dinner,_ his ears slowly turned red.

Was Hanzo _checking him out?_ In his personal opinion, the outfit he wore to bed wasn’t nearly as handsome as the outfit he wore every day. Sweatpants and a t-shirt that didn’t really fit him properly were not his idea of attractive attire. Yet there Hanzo was, staring.

And there McCree was, still standing in the hallway like a deer in the headlights. Shaking his head slightly, he decided he must still be half asleep and shuffled into the room, not meeting Hanzo’s gaze. He pulled milk from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard, pouring himself a generous portion. “Fancy meeting you here,” he drawled.

He could’ve sworn he heard a quiet splutter behind him. Smiling lopsidedly, McCree rose the glass to his lips and gulped the milk down. It was soy or some shit, not his preference but the only thing they kept in the base while Genji was likely to come back; no one expected the badass ninja to be lactose intolerant, but there they were.

When he turned back to Hanzo, he noticed the older Shimada staring at his throat as he swallowed. This time, it was his turn to flush. “Yes, well,” Hanzo leaned back against the counter, setting down the bowl he’d been holding. “I found myself restless.”

“Same here,” McCree mumbled around his glass, draining it rather more quickly than he usually would. There was something about the kitchen at this hour of the night, the quiet and dark closing in, that made him more aware of Hanzo than ever. The man looked rumpled, though he was still wearing the outfit he’d had before. The pouches at his waist were missing, and McCree wondered if he’d left them in his room. Wondered if he was making himself comfortable.

Promptly, McCree set the glass down in the sink. There was still milk in it, and he really should clean it himself, but he couldn’t will himself to do it. Not after his nightmare, and the conversation they’d had after dinner. Damn, but lately life had seemed to take every opportunity to give him a hard time. He finally got Overwatch back, and for what?

Admittedly, a midnight snack in the company of a handsome man wasn’t the worst punishment there was, but still.

“Well, I’m off to get s’more sleep,” McCree declared, staring at Hanzo’s salt and pepper hair instead of his face. It tumbled over his shoulders, loose from its ponytail from earlier. It was a good look on him.

“See you tomorrow,” Hanzo replied, but it had an odd cadence to it. Before McCree could get himself caught up in over-analyzing, he left. A significant portion of him ached for the old Overwatch, but a small piece was starting to think this might not be nearly as bad as he’d thought. By the time he arrived back at his room, a smile had found his lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Reinhardt is my spicy grandpa and I love him almost as much as I'm loving the Overwatch fandom. Seriously, this fic has the highest hit to comment ratio of anything I've written, ever. It's really inspiring and encouraging to know I've got so many awesome, kind people looking forward to this update. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint, and you'll be just as hyped (if not more) for chapter three!!
> 
> Feel free to send in requests for things you'd like to see happen, by the way. It might not all occur, but I love feedback and predictions and stuff like that, and if I can make someone's dream scene come to life it'd be just! Amazing!


	3. Begin

Morning sun streamed through the window, bright and honey-yellow, but McCree found himself reluctant to get up. His head felt tender, the way it always did before a bad headache. Which was ridiculous, because it wasn’t like he’d gone and gotten drunk the night before.

With a slowness that McCree privately thought was more befitting of his age than the way he normally moved, he rolled himself out of bed and stretched. The cold, concrete floor beneath his feet helped wake him up, but he still found himself feeling more sluggish than usual. He cracked his knuckles, resolving to go to the gym and give himself a good reason to be tired soon.

Jesse went to his single, small dresser, but paused before opening it. His usual outfit, while comfortably worn and perfect for fighting in, wasn’t really necessary for training. And anyway, he was sore, and… well, Hanzo had looked at him _differently_ last night, when he’d run into him in the kitchen. Remembering that up and down look Hanzo had given him made McCree grin.

Wearing his pyjamas during the day wouldn’t hurt. They were basically day clothes for anyone else, anyway.

Quickly, Jesse pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, then trudged into the bathroom. He plowed through his morning routine with all the ruthless efficiency of someone who knew exactly how vulnerable he was while he was brushing his teeth. It was one of the few times where he felt like a certain level of worry was necessary, and not a detriment at all.

He emerged from his room with a freshly trimmed beard, the smell of woodsy aftershave still in his nose. Living at the watchpoint had a lot of perks he’d missed while he’d been on the road, not the least of which was these small luxuries. Heading to the gym, hands shoved in his pockets and head down, McCree didn’t expect to hear a grunt in an already familiar voice, and Mei replying, “Oh, don’t worry, it’ll thaw soon enough!”

Unbidden, his feet sped up, so that he was arriving at the open room and skidding inside in time to see Hanzo staring at his frozen arm, shivering and giving Mei dubious glances even as water began to drip to the floor. He must have been sparring with her, because everyone got frozen the first time they sparred with Mei. She said that it was the only way to get anyone to take her seriously, despite her cuddly appearance.

But McCree found it difficult to focus on the circumstances, because Hanzo was making little _noises._ His inhales and exhales were audible, punctuated with a tiny “ah” as he flexed his hand and evidently found the rush of pinpricks uncomfortable. Swallowing hard, McCree reminded himself that his sweatpants would be incapable of hiding any problem that might develop, and redirected his thoughts as quickly as he could.

“Well well well,” McCee said, trying his hardest to sound amused and cocky and not as, er, shaken as he was. “What’ve I walked in on? Mei, are you hazing the poor guy?”

“What would give you that idea?” Mei asked, laughter in her eyes. McCree rose his eyebrows, not dignifying her with a response.

Turning to Hanzo, he couldn’t resist staring at the way the ice was obscuring Hanzo’s tattoo. As he watched, a line of melting liquid slid from his shoulder to his chest, tracing a line down to where-- ah, fuck, were his nipples hard? _Jesus,_ McCree thought, _get your head out of the gutter, Jesse. You don’t even know if he’s interested._

Except that Hanzo had seemed interested last night, and the blush on his cheeks now couldn’t be explained away by the cold. “You need any help handling her, don’t hesitate to ask,” McCree said, relief heavy in his chest that his voice didn’t shake.

“I will not need help,” Hanzo replied, his chin tilting upwards in a challenge. Mei laughed, sweet and delighted, and McCree smirked back. Hanzo certainly wouldn't be a pushover, if what Genji had said about him still held true.

As McCree retreated to the punching bags hanging in the corner of the room, the sparring match started up again. At first slow, with Mei pulling punches while she waited for Hanzo to recover. Jesse watched as he stretched and taped his hands, wondering absently if Reinhardt might be up for sparring later.

Unfortunately, trying to subtly position himself so that he could watch their match from the corner of his eye while still beating the daylights out of the bag proved to be somewhat challenging. He tried to focus on his training in lieu of getting to watch, but it was hard when he heard blows and padded arrows landing. Occasionally ice would chill the air behind McCree’s back, and he itched to turn around.

Just when McCree’s knuckles were starting to ache and he was considering switching to a different activity, Mei gave one final, “Okay bowmaster, next time won’t be so easy!” She scurried out of the room with a wave to McCree, moving more lightly on her feet than McCree had thought possible when he’d first met her.

Judging from the bemused look Hanzo followed her with, he felt similarly. He paced up to McCree, but still stared after Mei. This suited McCree just fine, as it meant he could look at the sweat tracing the tendons on Hanzo’s throat all he wanted. “Was she part of the previous Overwatch?” Hanzo asked, quiet enough that he clearly didn’t want Mei to hear.

“Yup,” McCree said, steadying the swinging bag and struggling to smother a smile. “She was an environmentalist.”

The disbelief on Hanzo’s face was the last straw that had Jesse guffawing. To his surprise, Hanzo joined in with a few chuckles of his own, warm and smooth as melted chocolate. God, Jesse wanted that sound against his mouth.

Blinking in surprise at his own thought, Jesse tried to redirect before Hanzo noticed his laughter’s abrupt cut off. “So, did you come over here just to gossip, or were you lookin’ for something else?” The sentence hadn’t been intentionally suggestive, but the way Hanzo blinked at him, well, McCree was increasingly sure of what he was going to do.

He was a man of action, after all, and there wasn’t much of a benefit in waiting, in his experience. But he balked at the thought of doing it _now,_ so all he did was wait innocently as Hanzo answered. “Ah, I was wondering if you would be willing to-- If you are not too tired, I could spar with you as well.”

“Trying to learn the agents’ fighting styles, eh?” Hanzo shrugged in response, backed up a few steps so that he was back on the sparring mats.

“It makes sense,” said Hanzo. “If I’m to be fighting beside you, I need to learn how to not get in your way.”

Toying with the hem of his shirt, McCree looked at Hanzo with raised eyebrows. “Fair, but I don’t want nothin’ to do with that bow of yours while we’re sparing.” Hanzo looked down at it, consternation on his face, but eventually he shrugged and set it at the edge of the mat, where it wouldn’t get in the way.

All at once, McCree pulled his shirt off, figuring that a little more reassurance couldn’t hurt, and anyway physical exertion was a good enough excuse. And there it was, Hanzo’s eyes wide and dark and so easy to read it was honestly flattering. “Alright samurai,” McCree said, remembering the way Genji would complain about the word, “come at me.”

Turned out that when Hanzo sparred, he didn’t fuck around. McCree had to get his hands up in a hurried block, and then kept them there, the quick one-two of punches impacting his forearms hard enough to sting. Well, at least McCree knew Hanzo wasn’t going to be distracted by his being shirtless now.

Over and over, McCree tried to get on the offensive, and simply found that he _couldn’t._ Hanzo moved with the swift precision of years of formal training; if McCree hadn’t been used to that level of technique, he would have found himself flat on his back in minutes. As it was, though, a deep satisfaction welled in him.

It wasn’t as though he was making things easy for Hanzo, either. The shorter man dropped to the ground to swipe his foot at McCree’s ankles, and McCree simply jumped over. Hanzo would get behind McCree, only to find that he was already turning to meet him. It was thrilling, the burn of exertion in McCree’s joints as he foiled Hanzo.

They were evenly matched, or as close to it as McCree could tell. An hour passed in a blur, no advantage for either past that initial attack, and McCree could feel his heart pounding harder and harder. It was different from the rush of battle, no blood or death or fear, just feral grins exchanged when their eyes met.

Finally, McCree saw a chance, and a step forwards on the balls of his feet flowed into his arm raising, elbow crooked, catching under Hanzo’s chin and knocking him back. He didn’t quite fall flat, not the way McCree intended, but now his right foot was just past Hanzo’s and he slid it back abruptly, upsetting Hanzo’s balance as his foot skidded.

In battle, McCree would follow up the move with a chop to the back of the neck, but as it was he simply stepped towards Hanzo with his left foot, slapped a palm onto Hanzo’s shoulder blade and propelled him face-first into the mat. The victory felt like it might have been a fluke, but it also felt hard won, and McCree basked in the glow of it. The sparring match was better than some of the sex he’d had in the past.

Hanzo stood up slowly, batting aside McCree’s proffered hand, but he wasn’t scowling like McCree expected. His eyes were bright, and for a moment the mahogany of them seemed more like sunlight in whiskey. McCree swallowed hard, but couldn’t stop the appreciative look he spared Hanzo’s sweat-soaked body.

“So,” McCree said at last, when it felt like he had enough breath back. “Think I made it worth your while?”

Gaze glittering, Hanzo smiled something small and private and said, “Oh, yes.” And then he was walking back to his bags, resting against the wall near his bow. McCree hadn’t noticed them earlier, but then, he’d been rather distracted.

Hanzo drew out a pack of cigarettes, and McCree felt the sight of them tug on him like a magnet. “You got any to spare?” He asked, watching hungrily as Hanzo slid a small lighter out of the same bag and flicked it open.

Surprised, Hanzo looked down at the pack of cigarettes, then shrugged and held it out. “Help yourself,” he said. McCree tried to keep himself from looking too eager as he grabbed one and sandwiched it between his lips, but truth be told it had been too long, and even if it wasn’t a cigar it was better than nothing. Hanzo even held up the lighter to light the tip of McCree’s cigarette for him, and McCree would have tipped his hat in thanks if he had it on.

Nicotine flooded his lungs, absolutely _divine_ after having gone so long without. “Thank ya’ kindly,” he said, stooping to grab his discarded shirt. An idea occurred to him, and he swallowed around the lump suddenly forming in his throat. “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

Curiosity plain on his face, Hanzo nodded, allowed McCree to lead the way out of the gym. He slung his shirt over his shoulder and inhaled deeply as he went, once again thankful for the cigarette. He’d skipped this location on his first tour through, but he figured Hanzo might appreciate knowing about it now. Besides, Jesse owed him one.

Arriving at the inconspicuous door, Jesse turned to Hanzo and whispered conspiratorially, “This here’s a secret, you get me? No telling the others.” Hanzo nodded, wide-eyed in that disarmingly naive way that made McCree want to melt. Or make out.

Instead of following either impulse, McCree pushed the door open, revealing the balcony set into the cliff face of the island. He was lucky to be able to reveal the sun shining above and glinting off the waves, instead of the usual dreary cloud cover that hung low outside. Hanzo’s face did something complicated, and then he was stepping forwards, passing McCree to lean against the railing. The thin line of smoke going up from the end of his cigarette was nearly the same grey as the hints in his hair, and McCree surprised himself by thinking, _beautiful._

“Reminds me of…” Hanzo’s rough voice trailed off, until he took his cigarette between his fingers and exhaled heavily. “My family used to vacation to the ocean regularly. This is similar.”

 _That_ caught McCree off guard, though for entirely different reasons than Hanzo usually inspired. “Really? Genji never said anything about that.”

With a sharp look in McCree’s direction, Hanzo shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t have.” Wincing, McCree looked back out on the water. Well, that had certainly gone a long way towards ruining the mood McCree had worked so hard to create.

“About that,” McCree said, knowing that what he was about to say might backfire spectacularly. “Genji said he had a brother, but he never said you were so handsome.”

There was a moment where McCree’s stomach sunk, where Hanzo’s eyes saddened and he said “Genji” in a tone that sounded older than Hanzo’s age. But then the rest of McCree’s words seemed to sink in, and Hanzo inhaled sharply, color staining his cheeks. “Handsome?”

“Sure are,” McCree drawled, trying his hardest not to show how nervous he was. “If ya’ don’t mind my saying so.”

Judging from the look on Hanzo’s face, he really _didn’t_ mind, which was a minor miracle. His eyebrows were still furrowed, though, and he looked unsure. “McCree, I am flattered, but…” Hanzo took a deep breath to steel himself, through his nose instead of his mouth, so he wouldn’t burn through the cigarette too fast. “I do not want to complicate my standing in Overwatch so quickly.”

Hope blossomed in McCree’s chest. Was Hanzo saying that he might want more than just a couple of sweaty makeouts and fumbling handjobs? It had been a long time since McCree had had something resembling romantic involvement, and he couldn’t deny that he was interested. After all, the Overwatch recall had actually made his life _more_ stable. He might be the only agent that was true for, come to think of it.

“Overwatch don’t frown on office romances,” McCree said carefully, looking away from Hanzo and out to the sea in an effort to keep his voice steady. “Just, so you know.”

A moment of silence allowed McCree to realize his cigarette was almost gone, and then a calloused hand was touching his jaw, sending shocks through his face. He was glad touching Hanzo hadn’t felt like _this_ during their sparring match. “Look at me, McCree,” said Hanzo, something hoarse in his tone that left McCree feeling like he’d been electrocuted.

Knowing that he was stalling, McCree put out the cigarette against the railing of the balcony. But it was ridiculous to be nervous, because he was the one who started this and it wasn’t like he was some blushing virgin, so he turned his head to meet Hanzo’s eyes at last. His gaze was searching, and when he spoke it was just as husky as before. “You barely know me.”

“I barely know most people,” McCree admitted. Then he was caught, staring at the way Hanzo’s lips curled upwards with a long inhale. Clever fingers rose to Hanzo’s lips, took the cigarette so that it wasn’t in the way.

And Hanzo breathed the words “Alright cowboy, I will give you a try” along with a cloud of sweet smoke into Jesse’s face, and it shouldn’t have been hot, but it _was_. So hot he almost gave in to the urge to shiver, though the knowledge that Hanzo would feel even a slight tremor through the hand on McCree’s chin kept him still.

The moment shattered when Hanzo looked back at the sea, the tension in his shoulders making Jesse realize, through the haze that had temporarily clouded his thoughts, that Hanzo was as nervous as he was. “Would you like another cigarette?” He asked, mock-casual, and McCree allowed his lips to quirk into a crooked smile.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. “Actually, you might wanna hide those, ‘cause you’re fuckin’ screwed if Angela catches you.”

“If Angela catches him doing what?” McCree jumped, the feminine voice calling to mind his first day back at Gibraltar. Without thinking, he smacked the cigarette out of Hanzo’s hand, causing it to fall to the ocean as Angela rounded the corner.

Thinking fast, outside of battlefields, was not McCree’s strong suit. But hey, the guy _had_ just agreed, so-- “If Angela catches him doing this,” Jesse said, and then he grabbed Hanzo by the shoulders and kissed him.

Still lips under his aside, it was worth it to pull back and see Angela’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and Hanzo’s eyes shocked and unmistakably _not_ complaining. Well, the day had certainly been eventful, and he hadn’t even had lunch yet. For the first time in a long time, Jesse felt like he was going to have a really, truly good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went in a direction that I... really, really didn't expect, tbh. I'm kinda nervous about posting it, since it threw out some of my plans for the story, but unless someone thinks this was OOC then it's likely going to stay the way it is. That being said, Meet Ugly is only kind of finished. I want to expand on this universe, but I'll probably make a series of works out of it, rather than simply adding to this one.
> 
> I've got two reasons for wanting to do things this way. One, I tend to be sort of crushed by the weight of responsibility with really long fics, and this universe is begging to be fleshed out way more than 10k words. Two, I'm already working on a prisoner au that's turning out to be longer than initially anticipated, and I want to be able to update that without having to split my attention between it and another long running work. The title is Black Water, if anyone's interested, but please mind the warnings! It's a dark, dark fic.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, I can safely say I hope you all enjoyed reading, and feedback would be much appreciated. Suggestions, wishes, critiques, even prompts are all welcome!!!


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